Each year, come Chanukah, we read the parshah that tells us the story of Yosef in Egypt.

was passed from one hand to another, and eventually ended up in Egypt, a slave in the house of Potifar.

As dark as it was for Yosef, his days became even darker. He is falsely accused by Potifar’s wife of trying to seduce her, and is imprisoned. We can’t even imagine the difficult conditions of the ancient Egyptian jails.

But it was precisely there, as he sat in his jail cell, that the light in Yosef’s neshamah shone brightly. He didn’t wallow in his personal pain, but was sensitive to the emotions and needs of others.

Yosef noticed two fellow prisoners who appeared upset and ashen-faced. “Maduah p’neichem ra-im hayom, Why do your faces look so pained today?” (Bereishis 40:6). Yosef, even in the midst of the most challenging time and place, was there for his fellow. What is hurting you… what can I do to help you?

V’heyeh brachah. Be a Blessing.

HaShem’s words to our patriarch Avraham. Words that speak of a life mission, to make the world a better place. To be there for others. To reach out to all those around us with a listening ear, an understanding heart, a kind smile. To touch another’s neshamah.

Before my mother, Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis a”h, passed away, she wrote what was to be her final book – BE A BLESSING. My mother wrote of how we so often seek brachos, blessings. Brachos for good health, brachos for parnassah – sustenance, brachos for shidduchim, children, shalom bayis – peace in the home, and so much more. Yet, we forget HaShem’s message to Avraham. The lesson that our Creator has chosen a mission for each of us, a message to live our life being a blessing.

From Avraham to Avraham. While V’heyeh brachah was HaShem’s message to our father Avraham, it was also the way of life in which my Zeide, HaRav Avraham HaLevi Jungreis zt”l, raised my mother and her siblings.

My mother writes of the difficult, dark days she endured in Bergen-Belsen. But even there, my Zeide gave her a mission – to put a smile on her face. Zeide explained that a little girl with a smile could bring joy to others, even if only for a fleeting moment. “When adults see you, a child, smiling, they will have courage. You will imbue them with faith and strength, and then they will smile.” (Be a Blessing, 15)

“Did you have a bubbe?” my husband continued to probe.

“Yes,” came the grudging reply.

“Did she ever call you by any name other than Frank?”

“Oh, yes,” he admitted unwillingly.

My husband would not let up. “What was that name?”

Slowly, Frank stammered, “Some weird name. It sounded some¬thing like Feivel.”

“Feivel!” my husband cried excitedly. “How can a Feivel be a Bud¬dhist?”

As he said these words, my husband slowly placed his arm with the IV upon the man’s shoulder. With the other hand, he stroked his face. Then he planted a kiss upon his forehead.

“Feivel,” my husband whispered in Yiddish, “du bist a Yid — you are a Jew. Say the Shema with me.”

Slowly, in a trembling voice, my husband said those holy words and Feivel joined in. It was obvious that this was not the first time Feivel had heard them.

“My bubbe would say that prayer with me,” he whispered. “Thank you, Rabbi.”

Feivel and my husband became fast friends.

A few days later, we heard that Feivel had been told he must go to a hospice. Insurance would no longer cover his stay in the hospital, and there was nothing more that medicine could do for him.

My husband once again made the slow, painful journey to the room next door.

“Rabbi!” Feivel cried. “What will I say to my Maker? I will have to face Him soon. I’m so afraid. I’m so, so afraid!”

“Don’t be afraid,” my husband assured him, once again placing his hand on Feivel’s shoulder. “I will join you soon. I will take your hand and we will go together. I will testify that you said the Shema and our Heavenly Father will envelop you with His love.

“Your bubbe will also be there. ‘Feivel,’ she will say, ‘you never forgot your name. You never forgot the Shema. I’m so proud of you! You give me such nachas.’” (Ibid. 45)

My mother taught us a powerful lesson. Our mission is never over. Until the very last second, when HaShem calls us to Him, each of us dare not lose sight of our pur¬pose. It is our covenant, given to our Avraham Avinu, to be passed on to all of us. We all have that one pach shemen, that one cruse of pure oil within. A cruse that is telling us v’heyeh brachah, be a blessing.

This Chanukah, let each of us reflect upon our life mission, and how each of us can light up the dark. Read BE A BLESSING. With the Rebbetzin’s sage advice and timeless message to us all, we can bring ohr l’choshech, light to darkness.

days, at this time.” It is our story too. The story of light in midst of darkness, and of the one pach shemen, the single of cruse of pure olive oil that lit up the dark.

A lone jug of oil, symbolic of the little spark within every neshamah. A spark that can explode into flames, with the ability to light up the world.

Yosef was only seventeen when sold by his brothers to traders. He endured a long journey,

My mother wrote how her father’s words stayed with her always. Words that guided my mother throughout her life. V’heyeh brachah.

This is no coincidence, for the story of Yosef is one with the story of the Jews living under Greek rule “bayomim ha- haim, baz’man hazeh, in those

Be a blessing, no matter where life takes you.

Chaya Sora can be reached at csgertzulin@gmail.com

When speaking in Oxford, my mother was asked as to where her smile starts. On her lips or in her heart. After contemplating the question for a moment, she answered: “I have so many worries in my heart, so much pain. But many years ago, in Bergen- Belsen, my father taught me that no matter where life takes us, we are never to forget our mission: Be A Blessing. So I always put a smile on my lips, and from my lips it goes into someone else’s heart, and from there it enters my heart, giving me warmth and strength.” (Ibid. 16)

Be a blessing. My mother shared a story of my father, HaRav Meshulem HaLevi Jungreis zt”l, being a blessing even in Sloan Kettering. Though struggling with colon cancer, going through three surgical procedures in seven short weeks, he never lost sight of his purpose in life.

My mother writes: When a new patient entered the adjacent room — a Jewish man who had decided to renounce his faith and become a Buddhist — my husband felt compelled to reach out to him before it was too late. He insisted on going to visit him. My husband entered the neighboring room and said, “Shalom aleichem,” to which the man responded, “I’m not Jewish, Rabbi.”

“But I know you are,” my husband answered. “What is your Jew¬ish name?”

With a touch of resentment, he answered, “I have no Jewish name. My name is Frank. I’m not Jewish.”